


Baby, We'll Be Fine

by blithelybonny



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2014-03-29
Packaged: 2018-01-17 10:10:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1383658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blithelybonny/pseuds/blithelybonny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco Malfoy is a terrible whore, but it’s the only way to keep him alive. When Harry Potter resurfaces in the unlikeliest of places, Draco finds that perhaps there are other ways to survive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby, We'll Be Fine

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt** : [#41](http://hd-hurtfest.livejournal.com/2436.html?thread=25220#t25220) by sksdwrld  
>  **Title:** Baby, We’ll Be Fine  
>  **Author** : ???  
>  **Pairing(s)/Character(s)** : Harry/Draco; Draco, Harry, Fenrir Greyback  
>  **Disclaimer** : Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.  
>  **Rating** : NC-17  
>  **Warnings (Highlight to view)** : * See LJ Post *  
>  **Word Count** 10,460  
>  **Summary** : Draco Malfoy is a terrible whore, but it’s the only way to keep him alive. When Harry Potter resurfaces in the unlikeliest of places, Draco finds that perhaps there are other ways to survive.  
>  **Author Notes** : Many thanks to our mod for running the fest and my beta MK for helping me even when I felt like this whole thing was falling apart and I couldn’t get any words out. Any remaining mistakes are my own. Title is also the title of a song by The National. Hope you enjoy!

Draco’s jaw ached hard. _Will you just fucking come already?_ he thought, as he tried to focus on breathing through his nose and not choking on the impressive girth of the man’s cock. He’d already forgotten the man’s name, not that it mattered; he was quite certain that the man didn’t know his either. This wasn’t about intimacy, it was about coming -- which the fucking punter seemed dead-set against doing.

He shifted as subtly as he could without disturbing the man’s rhythm and accidentally kneeled on a piece of broken glass. The pinch caused him to hiss with pain and inadvertently scrape his teeth along the man’s cock.

“Fuck!” the man rasped, spittle dabbing at his lips. “Keep your bloody teeth out of it.” He thrust forward harshly, and Draco choked a little. His eyes bugged out and his throat constricted until the man pulled out and allowed Draco to go back to the initial rhythm. Draco bobbed his head up and down, bracing himself on the man’s thighs, and struggled to bring the man off before he passed out from sheer exhaustion.

The minutes continued to tick by, and Draco started to feel more and more uncomfortable; still the man just wouldn’t release. Panic started to creep in -- if the john didn’t get off soon, Draco wasn’t going to be able to make his quota; and if Draco didn’t make his quota, he was going to be in for a world of trouble. He pulled back, the man’s cock slipping out with an obscene pop, and stared up with wide grey eyes. “What’s taking so long?” he asked, before looking back down to see the man had, essentially, gone soft. “If you can’t even get hard, how the fuck do you expect me to get you off?”

“Who the fuck do you think you are, you little whore!” the man swore, and raised a hand. Draco cowered, but it did no good, and the smack resounded through the dim alley. The man tugged him up to standing by the chin, fingers digging sharply into Draco’s jaw, and spat in his face. “Worthless piece of shite!” With that, he tucked himself back in and stalked off down the alley until he could no longer be seen.

Draco inhaled slowly and bit down on his lower lip to stem the tide of despair and nausea welling in his gut. _Get a grip_ , he thought, before dropping to the ground and huddling into himself, _it’s not like this hasn’t happened before_. It took a moment before he even thought to wipe his face, and then it hit him -- he hadn’t been paid. Groaning loudly, he buried his face in his arms. He was going to be in so much fucking trouble.

“You’re doing it wrong.”

Fear prickled at the back of Draco’s neck, as he lifted his head to search out the voice. A shadow peeled itself off the wall and headed toward him, but it was far too lean and wiry to be Fenrir. The fear only lessened a little, though. “Who are you?”

“Doesn’t matter,” the shadow said. “You’re pretty new, aren’t you? I haven’t seen you around here before.”

“It’s my first week in Knockturn,” Draco answered, then scoffed -- as if this was a real job.

“Aren’t you one of Greyback’s boys?” The shadow edged closer to the dim patch of light from the streetlamp out in Knockturn proper, and Draco strained to make out who he was. The voice sounded familiar in a long-forgotten sort of way. “Because I can’t imagine he’d be happy with you getting stiffed. How many have you scared off tonight?”

“None of your fucking business!” Seething, Draco tried to stand but his legs cramped up from being on his knees for so long and then sitting in a stiff position. It also probably didn’t help that he hadn’t had a decent meal in a couple days.

“All right?”

“Just go away. You’re scaring off my customers,” Draco spat angrily. The shadow chuckled lightly at that, and Draco practically growled with annoyance. “Fuck you.”

“No thanks. From that pathetic excuse for a blow job I just witnessed, I get the feeling you wouldn’t be able to pleasure me.” He laughed, an annoying bark of laughter that tugged on Draco’s memory once more.

“Who are you?” Draco asked again. “Come out where I can see you.”

“Oh, come on Malfoy, where’s the fun?”

With his hackles immediately raised, Draco fell back against the brick and really wished he had his wand. “How do you know my name?”

“How could I possibly forget it? It’s not exactly _usual_ ,” he replied and finally stepped into the light of the streetlamp.

Draco’s eyes widened in surprise, as he stared at a man he hadn’t seen in nearly ten years. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Fucking Lived, stood before him, looking for all the world like nothing was out of the ordinary. 

“You?” Draco managed to say, after swallowing twice against the odd feeling that welled inside him at the sight of his former nemesis. Although it was all so long ago, and so much had changed in the last ten years, that perhaps it _wasn’t_ such a shock to see Potter in a dingy alley known almost exclusively as a cruising site. It was humiliating, but frankly, Draco had been humiliated much worse before.

“Me,” Potter replied coolly. “Been a while, hasn’t it?”

“This isn’t what it looks like -- I mean, I’m not really --” Draco stammered briefly before cutting himself off abruptly. He had absolutely no reason to be flustered and certainly no reason to even continue the conversation. It was late, far too late to even contemplate the fact that the savior of the wizarding world had finally reappeared, and he had other, more important problems to consider. Fenrir really wasn’t going to take kindly to the fact that he hadn’t made very much money; yes, Draco really needed to leave right now and get back to the Manor. He had no time for Harry Potter.

With a deep sigh, he pushed himself off the wall and made to brush past Potter toward the street. “I certainly don’t need to explain myself to the likes of you, and now if you’ll excuse me, I have to leave,” he said, and he nearly made it to the street before a wave of dizziness brought him crashing to his knees. He let out a hiss of pain, having landed hard on the cobblestones. He breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly, trying to settle himself enough to get back up and make it to the public Floo at the Leaky Cauldron. Then, if he was lucky, he’d make it back to the Manor before curfew.

“Need a hand?” Potter loomed over him, hand extended just at Draco’s eye level.

“Not from you,” he said stubbornly, as he attempted to lever himself back up.

“You’re already late,” Potter continued. “You might as well let me help you. Come on. You can come back to mine.”

“Absolutely not!” Draco replied, shoving out at Potter’s hand. He hated feeling so weak and pathetic, and really, all he needed was a hit. His stash, however diminished it currently was, waited for him underneath his mattress back at the Manor. He could disappear for hours without a care in the world; he just needed to get back home first.

“Malfoy, please don’t make me forcefully Side-Along you. You look like death warmed over, and you’re about twenty minutes past Greyback’s curfew, so I say that unless you want to spend the night in this alley scaring off customers, you take my fucking hand and let me help you.”

Draco exhaled sharply again and hung his head. “I have to get home. I can still get into the Manor if I bring him--”

“--the pittance you made today?” Draco could just hear the smirk in Potter’s tone. “Come on, Malfoy. You can come back to mine tonight.”

Draco blamed the second wave of dizziness for the exhaled ‘fine’ that escaped his lips. He knew he would regret it in the morning, but at least a night at Potter’s would be much better and certainly safer than a night out on the streets.

\-- --- --- --

Potter’s flat was in a run-down building in a particularly nasty part of town, but it did have the advantage of a large and incredibly comfortable couch that Draco availed himself of immediately upon arriving. It took up practically the entire tiny living room and had a bit of a musty smell to it, but it was plush and Draco sank into it gratefully. He laid his head back and closed his eyes, sighing gently. His head swam just a bit, but after a few moments of breathing slowly, the dizziness subsided.

“You hungry?”

In truth he was famished, but the whole situation was odd enough as it was without taking Potter’s food, in addition to his hospitality. “I’m fine,” Draco replied, just as his stomach growled loudly and betrayed him. Flushing slightly, he reiterated, “I’m fine.”

Potter let go a chuckle that made Draco flush further with embarrassment. “How about I make a couple sandwiches, and if you change your mind, they’ll be on the table?” he asked, and Draco tried not to hear the patronization in his tone.

“I guess I could eat something,” he reluctantly admitted, before pulling his feet up and curling into himself on the couch. He suddenly felt small, the weight of what was happening and the pain of the situation he found himself in settling heavy on his shoulders. However surreal his life had become over the last few years, the fact of being caught on his knees by a former schoolmate had finally sunk in and filled him with a deeply humiliated panic. And of course it would be Potter who happened upon him -- because Potter was always there, for every single weak and pathetic moment of his life. Perhaps it was Potter’s destiny to always see Draco at his lowest.

Draco drew in a shuddering breath then and attempted to gather his wits and control. He would not allow Potter to see him cry -- not again. It didn’t matter how long it had been since that day when they were children playing at war in Myrtle’s bathroom. He simply would not allow Potter the satisfaction of seeing him cry. Another breath, and he would get through this utterly strange night. Another breath, and in the morning he would return to the Manor, go about his business as usual and never have to see Potter again. A long, quiet breath, and maybe everything would be fine … or at least as fine as it was before.

“I hope you don’t mind dry turkey on white,” said Potter, and Draco looked up to see him brandishing a plate. “I’m afraid I’m all out of duck.”

The small, teasing smile on Potter’s face did nothing for Draco’s nerves, and the panicky feeling that had come over him before rose up again and threatened to overtake him. “I - I’m not hungry,” he said quickly and tried to look away, but Potter’s suddenly intense gaze kept Draco’s attention. “I said, I--”

“--stop protesting,” Potter interrupted. He set the plate down on the small coffee table and then, to Draco’s surprise, knelt down at Draco’s feet. He carefully tugged at Draco’s legs until Draco pulled out of his crouch and let them rest with his feet on the floor. Potter settled himself between Draco’s legs and put his hands on Draco’s thighs, beginning to run them soothingly up and down. “I need you to relax,” he continued in a low, soothing voice, eyes intent on Draco’s own.

“What are you doing, Potter?” Draco closed his eyes to escape Potter’s gaze, but felt compelled to open them again, as Potter’s hands drifted up his thighs more firmly. Potter leaned in a little, and his hands slid up again, reaching for Draco’s belt buckle. Draco inhaled shakily, eyes widening. “What are you doing?” he repeated.

It was a stupid question, of course; he knew exactly what Potter was doing because he did it himself all the time for whoever had the money to make him.

“I’m going to make you feel good,” Potter then answered, as he undid Draco’s belt.

“No, Potter, I don’t think--”

“--just let me,” Potter interrupted, smiling innocently up at Draco. “I want to. I want to make you feel good, Malfoy. I want to make you feel better.”

“Potter, we shouldn’t make it any fucking weirder than it already is,” he said, protesting weakly, as Potter dipped his hands under Draco’s waistband. “You really don’t have--”

“--I want to, Malfoy. I _want_ ,” Potter replied and grinned at him, eyes hooded with the kind of desire Draco hadn’t seen on another man in a long time. “Don’t you want? Do you ever just _want_?”

Draco lifted his hips in silent acquiescence, despite how stupid it obviously was, as Potter tugged his trousers down. He felt the tingle of a modified Shield Charm, which only served to remind him that he still didn’t have his wand, and Fenrir was probably going to kill him. All thoughts entirely ceased, however, when Potter pressed a kiss to Draco’s exposed and rapidly-stiffening cock.

“There’s something I want to show you,” Potter murmured gently into the crook where Draco’s thigh met his pelvis.

Draco’s breath then hitched in his throat as Potter’s hot, sweet mouth slid down along his cock. He hadn’t thought it possible to be so hard, so quickly -- he had never felt anything even remotely close to arousal during any of the other times this had happened in his life -- but he ached for it, desperately wanting. Potter bobbed slowly up and down, taking his sweet time, until Draco practically vibrated with need. It had been so long since he’d actually wanted something like this, that it took almost no time at all for Draco to be ready for release. “Fucking hell,” he moaned, letting a hand slide into Potter’s hair. The disheveled mess was deceptively soft, fluttering at Draco’s fingers as he sought purchase. “Please,” he added, unembarrassed to beg.

Potter looked up at him through thick black lashes and pulled back just enough so that his lips whispered against the head of Draco’s cock as he spoke. “What will you give me?”

“Wha--what?” Dazed with lust, Draco hardly noticed that Potter even spoke, let alone asked a question that needed an answer.

“I said,” Potter repeated, lips quirking into a smile that sent a shiver down Draco’s back and a rush of heat to his lower belly, “what will you give me? What will you give me to make you come?” His tongue darted out then, flicking against the leaking slit, and Draco nearly lost himself.

“Anything, anything, anything,” Draco breathed, bucking his hips upward, begging for it.

Potter then bobbed his head forward and swallowed Draco to the root. He hollowed his cheeks as he pulled back, and Draco cried out, coming hard enough that he arched off the couch, hips jerking wildly. Stars exploded behind his eyes, and Draco knew that this was what it was really supposed to feel like. This was how it was really supposed to be. He had no idea how Potter did it, but the stupid, fucking bastard had managed to make Draco feel desired for who he was, rather than what he could possibly provide -- and it made him feel sick to his stomach.

“Alternatively,” Potter said matter-of-factly, as Draco tried to come back to himself, “you could just hold still and let them fuck your mouth.”

“Potter,” Draco managed, weakly, before falling back against the couch cushions. He began to shiver and wrapped his arms tightly around himself. He felt suddenly bereft in a way that twisted his insides. “Oh, God,” he whispered and tucked his head into his knees.

“Oh … oh, Malfoy,” Potter said quietly, as he absently wiped the come from his face. “It’s okay.”

Draco shuddered violently. “No, it absolutely is not okay,” he murmured. “It’s not okay, Potter. None of this is okay. I should go. I’m going to go.” He was rambling, but he didn’t care -- he needed to get out. He needed to leave, but he couldn’t move. He found that he physically couldn’t move from that stupid spot on Potter’s ridiculous, old couch. He felt like someone was sitting on his chest, pinning him down and stealing his breath. “God, what the fuck!” he suddenly shouted, raking his fingers through his hair and then pressing fists into his eyes to stem the tears that threatened.

Potter then climbed up on the couch next to Draco. Draco tried to shift away, but there was nowhere to go. He felt, rather than saw, Potter sit back as he tugged Draco towards him. Helpless and craving something he couldn’t name, Draco allowed himself to be pulled into Potter’s lap.

“It’s going to be okay, you know,” said Potter quietly. “I mean it. It’s going to be fine.”

Draco curled inward, as Potter’s arms came around him, sheltering him. It was probably pathetic how good it felt, but he honestly couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched him intimately and hadn’t just flung a knut or two at him before leaving. “Can I really stay here tonight?” he heard himself ask before he could stop.

“Where else would you go?” Potter asked in return, and Draco tensed at his tone only briefly, before Potter soothed a hand into his hair and trailed down to trace over his cheek and jawline. “How about a shower first? There should be some hot water left.”

“Why are you being nice to me?” Draco asked, swallowing a sob. “Why are you being nice to me, Potter? I’m … I’m nothing. I don’t deserve it.”

Potter didn’t answer at first, and Draco felt the panic rising up again the longer Potter held him and stayed silent. Then, quietly: “Because I guess there just aren’t many people left that let me be nice to them.” Potter then Summoned his wand from the table. He cast a cleaning charm on his face, and Draco tried his hardest not to flush at the thought of what Potter was cleaning up. He gently nudged Draco up and put an arm around his shoulders once they were both standing. “So … shower, then you will eat that sandwich I made for you, and then bed,” he continued, his tone matter-of-fact and nonchalant once more.

Draco was helpless to say anything other than, “All right.”

\-- --- --- --

When Draco woke up the next morning, he found that not only was he in Harry Potter’s bed, Harry Potter was snuggled soundly up against his back, wrapped around him in what Draco could only assume was a protective gesture. Draco would have thought he was dreaming, except that even his wildest dreams wouldn’t have come up with the scenario.

With a little maneuvering, Draco managed to disentangle himself from Potter’s grip without waking him and then padded out of the tiny bedroom, intent on leaving Potter’s flat before anything else happened.

“What the fuck am I doing?” he asked himself quietly, as he searched out his coat. He knew he had it on when he got here last night, but after the shower that Potter had all but forced him into before bed, Draco had simply stopped thinking altogether. It was easier to ignore the many thousand feelings that had been assaulting him than to try facing anything. Standing under the just-this-side of warm water, he’d closed his eyes and pushed away everything possible until his mind was carefully and purposefully blank. It was almost like learning Occlumency again -- pushing everything away until nothing important, nothing hurtful, remained.

At a sound from the bedroom, Draco froze, but when he heard nothing further, he sighed gently and continued prowling around the flat. He wandered into the kitchen, even though he knew his coat wouldn’t be there, and started pawing through the cabinets. He figured he might as well get himself something to eat since Potter had been so generous the night before.

“I can process that madness later,” Draco muttered to himself and cracked a smile, as he opened a cabinet to find a box of peanut butter crackers. He took down the box, tucked it under his arm and pulled out a handful while he continued down the line.

It was the cabinet above the sink where Draco found it -- a jar filled with what could only be Potter’s life savings. It was heavier than it looked, and Draco nearly dropped it, as he took it down from the shelf before he could even question what he was doing. He set it on the kitchen table and stared at it.

It was more money than Draco had even _seen_ in ages. When the last of what had been left of his family fortune had finally disappeared up his nose, Draco had been forced to seek out another way to stay alive, and after a series of pathetic odd jobs at which he failed utterly, he’d been forced to return to the Manor that was now owned by Greyback and beg. 

Draco dragged his hands through his hair, scratching at his scalp aggressively. There was no need to run through the shit that had gotten him into the position he was in today. It had to go back behind the Occlumency wall. No thinking; just moving forward. Just surviving.

“I can’t do this,” he said to himself and then quickly glanced up in the direction of the bedroom. When no answer came, he looked back down at the jar. His hand was in it before he even noticed, and he sifted some of the coins between his fingers. “No,” he continued, “no, this is … is this too much?”

Draco inwardly argued with himself that Potter had already given him a bed, a tutorial on how to make his job less unbearable and something that had made him feel good for the first time in ages. It wouldn’t be right to do what he was considering. In fact, he couldn’t believe he was even considering it at all. Except: what was taking a little of his money, too? Potter was a good person. Potter would want him to have it, if it could help. And it could certainly help.

Without further question, he plunged his hand into the jar and grabbed a handful of coins. Stuffing the lot into his pocket, Draco took one last look around the flat and fled.

It was much earlier in the morning than he’d initially thought, and so the public Floo at the Leaky Cauldron didn’t have much of a line. Draco kept his head ducked and his arms crossed over his chest, shrinking away from prying eyes. Potter’s money was burning a hole in his pocket, but as soon as he got it to Fenrir, he wouldn’t have to think about it anymore because it would be Fenrir’s money and Fenrir’s problem if Potter ever figured it out.

The Manor was mostly quiet. Draco snuck through the halls towards his bedroom, ignoring the portraits of his ancestors who always had something vile to say since they had seen how low he’d fallen. He made brief eye contact with Savage, as the latter trudged out of his room towards one of the communal bathrooms. “All right, Sav?” he asked, not that he cared.

“Sod off, Malfoy,” Savage replied and jerked his head toward Draco’s room. “Bole told Fenrir you didn’t make it back last night, so you better have a good story.”

 _I do_ , Draco thought -- not that he could share it with anyone; not that anyone would believe him. “Thanks for the warning,” he called over his shoulder, before walking into the room he shared with Bole. He made a beeline for his bed and pulled his stash out from under the mattress. There was almost nothing left, but it would be enough for now. He could get through the rest of the day and forget all about Potter if he just had a little bit of pixie-dust.

He carefully measured out a small line on his index finger and without any further ceremony snorted it up his nose. It burned and his eyes watered, but then, after a moment, everything was fine. And everything would be fine.

“Finally decided to come home to me, did you?”

Fenrir was on him before he could even say a word of excuse or give him the money he’d brought. Draco wasn’t entirely sure that he’d expected anything different, but he was surprised nonetheless. However, the dust was already up his nose and it wouldn’t be long before he felt nothing at all.

“Did the ickle Malfoy brat forget that he’s Fenrir’s boy now?” the werewolf sing-songed, tracing a hand up Draco’s back. He then gripped Draco by the back of his neck, digging his fingers in until Draco cried out. He dipped his nose into the crook of Draco’s neck and inhaled deeply, causing Draco to shudder. “You stink … and he’s … he’s someone familiar,” he continued, growling low in the back of his throat.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Fenrir,” said Draco. His heart-rate began to climb up, and he could almost feel his blood rushing in his veins.

“Oh, what’s this?” Fenrir asked, flicking out his tongue and tasting Draco’s pulse point. “You hot for me, Malfoy?”

Draco laughed, his reflexes dulling as the pixie took flight. “It’s hot in here,” he explained, before turning around and facing Fenrir. “Don’t you feel hot?”

“Well, lookie here,” Fenrir whispered menacingly. “Can’t even face me without that stuff in your veins, hm? You little wankers are all alike. You taste like shit when you’re flying.”

“I’m flying,” Draco repeated, pupils dilating and eyes widening as he blindly took in his surroundings. “Where’s my wand? You have it, right? I want it.”

Fenrir snarled and shoved Draco. But when Draco only laughed and sat down on his bed, looking up innocently and utterly unknowing of what was coming, Fenrir practically howled with fury. “I’ve got your fucking wand, _Malfoy_ , but first you have to pay!” he yelled and pounced. He easily flipped Draco, in his drug-induced pliancy, onto his stomach. He bent low and spoke in Draco’s ear. “You’re going to fucking pay, one way or the other.”

Draco laughed and closed his eyes.

\-- --- --- --

Days later, Draco barely knew how he found Potter’s building again. He’d been so dazed from Potter’s Side-Along the first time, that he had scarcely taken in his surroundings before Potter had bundled him into the building and up the stairs to his flat. But after wandering the neighborhood for what felt like hours, Draco managed to focus long enough to recognize the terrible pub on the corner across from Potter’s place. Why he came back, he wasn’t entirely sure, except that he knew Potter would let him come inside and rest for a bit. It was all he really needed -- just a little rest.

A hot anxiety burned inside him, and his heart pounded rapidly. What if Potter _didn’t_ let him in? What if he didn’t even answer the door? Potter certainly had no reason to help him again, not after Draco had stolen his money and disappeared without so much as a leaving a note. Then again, when had Potter ever had reason to help him? Potter had saved his life more than once, and all Draco had ever done was take and take.

“Door’s open, Malfoy,” came Potter’s voice from the other side of the door.

Draco swallowed hard against the lump that had risen in his throat and turned the knob. He hated the come down more than anything else because it always made him feel deeply paranoid and self-loathing. He was never more aware of how pathetic he had become then in the days after a great flight. And standing on Potter’s doorstep, ready to beg for help if necessary was the lowest Draco could imagine.

Potter was seated on the couch, and Draco’s cheeks heated at the memory of what had happened there days before. Draco wanted to say something, and the urge to immediately apologize for his theft rose up strong, but he bit it back. If Potter didn’t know, there was no reason to bring it up and cause more trouble. He had to remember that he needed Potter’s help, however tragic it was to admit.

“I really didn’t think you’d come back,” Potter said, after several long moments of uncomfortable silence.

“I wasn’t going to,” Draco replied after another long moment, settling on the truth. “I just … I haven’t been able to go back to the Manor.” 

After Fenrir had taken his payment, without returning Draco’s wand, Draco simply got on with his business. The first time Fenrir had assaulted him had been terrifying and had scarred Draco, but sadly, it had merely become part of the routine whenever Draco, or any of the boys to be fair, crossed him. Draco was often lucky in that he was very rarely sober at the Manor. It was much easier to fly with the pixie down a dust-hole than to face the reality.

But Draco hadn’t had much left and had been forced out onto the streets to make enough money to replenish his stash, and when he’d attempted to get back into the Manor that morning, he found that the wards no longer allowed him through the gates.

“I’m locked out,” Draco continued, shrugging his shoulders and trying to pretend that it didn’t bother him as much as it did. While the Manor hadn’t been his real home for a very long time, it was still ancestrally his family’s, and the fact that the way was barred stung quite a bit.

Potter merely looked at him, and Draco was certain that he was about to get tossed out on his arse, until Potter patted the couch next to himself. “Do you want some tea? I think I’ve got oolong.”

“I don’t really like oolong,” Draco replied, eyes downcast.

“Earl Grey it is, then,” Potter replied, levering himself up and heading for the kitchen. “Come on, make yourself at home. Kitchen’s small, but there’s room to sit.”

Draco followed after him without question. He made sure to keep his eyes firmly away from the cabinet where he knew Potter kept his jar of money and took a seat at the small table. He opened his mouth to say something while Potter busied himself with boiling the water and taking out the tea leaves, but nothing came to mind except apologies and begging, and Draco decided that it would be much better to stay quiet.

“Here you go,” Potter said, putting a tea tray on the table with their two cups and a small plate of biscuits. He then slid a cup across the table to Draco, before taking one of his own.

Draco looked at his cup warily. The tea looked fine, but he honestly wouldn’t have put it past Potter to spike it with Veritaserum or some other Potion. Although, with the meager way Potter lived and his legendary inability to put more than two ingredients together, it was highly unlikely that he had anything other than tea in his cup.

“I have a little sugar and milk, if you like,” Potter said, as he poured some milk into his own.

“Sugar’s fine,” he replied, measuring out a half-teaspoon and stirring it in. He still couldn’t meet Potter’s eyes.

Potter reached out for a biscuit and dunked it into his now-prepared cup. “Sorry about the cups, by the way. I could only knick so much out of Grimmauld Place before Lestrange took it over, and these were in Kreacher’s hord.”

“They’re fine, thank you,” Draco replied quietly.

“I really don’t like you like this, Malfoy. Where’s the spark?” Potter then asked, a wide grin coming to his lips, as he set down his cup. “Where’s the fire? When’s the last time we got into it with each other?”

Potter chuckled at his own attempt at a joke, but it just made Draco feel sick to his stomach. He clung to his teacup, letting it anchor him briefly. What he really needed to do, he told himself, was get a fucking grip. Perhaps Potter was right -- he had to get the fire back. It was just difficult when the anxiety burned in his chest and the memory of what awaited him at home was entirely too much to bear.

He wished he was flying. Everything was always so much easier with pixie-dust.

“Did you have a decent night?” Potter asked, conversationally.

It took Draco a moment to realize that Potter was talking about their shared _profession_. He shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about that,” he said quickly.

Potter shrugged. “Talking about it makes it less taboo, I think.”

“All right, fine, then why do _you_ do it?” Draco asked, temper flaring. He really didn’t want to talk about it at all when he wasn’t actively doing it, and he certainly didn’t want to talk about it with Potter. He rolled his eyes and reached across the table for the plate of biscuits.

“Do what?” he replied and nudged the plate forward into Draco’s grasp.

“Oh, don’t be stupid, you’re the one who brought it up. ‘Makes it less taboo’ or whatever the fuck you said,” Draco drawled, as he dunked a biscuit into his tea. “You could have done anything when it was all over. You’re certainly capable of plenty. You killed You-Know-Who, after all, and I know you’re responsible for MacNair and Jugson too. So why the hell do you do this?”

Potter smiled wryly, but his tone was easy and playful. “Same reason you do, I expect.” He grinned. “Because it’s easy money. A bloke’s got to eat, right?”

Draco shook his head. “No, that’s not the reason. Don’t lie to me, Potty,” he sneered, before biting off a piece of biscuit and tossing the larger remainder on the table in front of him. “Tell me the truth.”

“And why should I?” Potter asked.

“Because you owe--” Draco cut himself off abruptly. Potter didn’t owe him a damned thing. Just because Draco wanted an explanation certainly didn’t mean that he deserved one. His brief flare of temper dissipated quickly, and he looked sullenly down at his tea cup. “Never mind.”

They sat quietly finishing their tea, which Draco found more comfortable than he was willing to admit. He supposed that Potter wasn’t bad company when he wasn’t goading Draco into a fight or taunting him about some nonsense or other. Of course, Potter had obviously changed since their school years, so that might have had something to do with it.

But after some time, Draco began to feel jittery and uncomfortable again. Whether it was the tea or whether it was the fact that he’d been sober for too long, he wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he needed to get out of Potter’s hideously cramped flat right now, or he was going to jump out of his skin.

“I think I should head out for a while,” he then said, getting up from the table and glancing around for something to wear over his threadbare t-shirt. “I didn’t … well, you know, I didn’t make much last night, and I should probably…”

“Sure, absolutely. I’d join you, but I did pretty well last night, so I’m going to enjoy the night in. I think there’s a doc about the Rolling Stones on telly tonight,” he replied, running a hand through his hair.

“Right, yes, well … you, er, you enjoy that, Potter,” Draco said, eyes darting toward the door and back again.

“Besides,” Potter continued, with a smirk on his lips, “if I went with you, you wouldn’t stand a chance at making any money.” He chuckled and then tossed the hooded sweatshirt that had been draped on the back of his chair to Draco. “Wear the hood up, but keep it unzipped. Something about it attracts the good blokes.”

Something twisted in Draco’s gut as he caught the sweatshirt. “Thanks for the tip,” he replied and slipped it on. It was old, but smelled really good. In fact, it smelled like Potter, and as Draco left the flat, he wrapped it tightly around himself. He didn’t want to admit it, but he felt strangely safe wearing Potter’s stupid hoodie. It had been a long time since he’d felt that way.

He really needed to get some more dust.

\-- --- --- --

Draco woke with a start, and immediately, as sunlight filtered in through a grubby window, his head began to spin. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping to stem the tide of nausea that always came with a particularly bad flight, but his stomach lurched uncomfortably. Unsure of exactly where the loo was and without the time to go searching, Draco forced himself to roll over and retched painfully over the side of the bed. He emptied the contents of his stomach -- mostly bile and other men’s spunk -- for what felt like an age, before rolling over again onto his back. He breathed carefully through his nose, trying to settle himself, as a sense of deep and painful shame overcame him. He really wished he had his wand, but that would still be in Fenrir’s possession, of course.

“Fuck,” he moaned and bolted upright, covering his face with cold, clammy hands, at the thought of the werewolf. Draco was, without question, seriously in for it. How long exactly had he been away from the Manor? Was this Potter’s flat or some john’s? A wave of fear swept through him, manifesting in a wracking shudder. He should have known better than to let Potter help him. But he supposed that Potter had always had that power over him. Years apart couldn’t undo what their shared experience at Hogwarts and during the war had rendered in the first place. It would always be Potter, no matter what.

“I was wondering if you were ever going to come out of that dust-hole.” 

Potter’s voice came from across the room, the gentle tone sounding odd to Draco’s ears. Draco then let his hands fall from his face, slightly relieved but also wary, and he looked mournfully over to where Harry was sitting in the window-seat. “How long have I been down?” he asked, voice hoarse and tired.

Potter sighed gently and scrubbed a hand over his face. He looked, for a moment, like he was genuinely concerned, and something odd clenched in Draco’s chest to see it. It was the same look his mother had given him when he’d turned up the first time after a bad flight, blood crusting in his nose and eyes sickly yellow from the dust. “Two days. Almost three, really. I was starting to get worried,” Potter then answered, before getting up and walking over, a matching pair of chipped teacups in his hands. He passed one to Draco, who took it gratefully, and perched gingerly on the edge of the bed. His eyes swept over the sick-up mess that Draco had made, but thankfully, he didn’t comment. “The tea will help with the nausea … but I can’t imagine it’ll do anything for the storm of shit you got yourself into with Greyback. I’m pretty sure it’s been a week since you paid him.”

The fear welled up again almost immediately, as Draco recalled what had happened when he left the Manor -- _why_ he left. Unbidden, tears sprang to his eyes, but he hadn’t the energy to hold them back this time. Despair pooled in the pit of his stomach, then rose up, practically choking him with the weight of it.

He had ruined everything -- he’d ruined everything just because Potter had spared him the barest hint of kindness. It might not have been a great life or even a good one, but it was a life, and he was living it. He had been getting by. He had been fine. 

“I really fucked up this time, Potter,” Draco said, his voice an aching whisper as he struggled to hold himself together. He heard Potter mutter an _Evanesco_ on the mess and felt him gently take the teacup away to set it down on the small table next to the bed. “What am I going to do?” he asked, as Potter climbed in beside him. He felt weak and small, as he let Potter put an arm around him. It shouldn’t have been as comforting as it felt, but Draco was grateful, in that moment, for their shared history. He couldn’t think of anyone else in the entire world who would show him even a small kindness anymore. At least Potter, however much had changed, was predictable in his goodness.

“It’ll be all right. You’ll figure out a way out of it.” Potter chuckled softly, and Draco felt the rumble of it in Potter’s chest, as he laid his head there against Potter’s heart. “You weren’t a Slytherin for nothing, right?”

Despite everything, Draco’s lips quirked up into a soft smile. “It’s been a very long time since I was a fucking Slytherin, Potter.”

“Harry.”

“What?” Draco looked up, but didn’t move out of Potter’s embrace.

“I think you can probably call me ‘Harry’ now,” Potter said, with a gentle shrug of his shoulders. “If you want.”

“I don’t know … maybe,” Draco said. _Harry_ , he thought. It wasn’t really so bad in his head, but he didn’t think he was quite ready to try it out loud.

Potter continued to hold him, as they both fell silent, and Draco concentrated on not losing his mind. He couldn’t remember the last time that someone had held him. The intimacy between him and Potter felt … well, it felt good, and that absolutely terrified him. Silence continued to stretch, and Potter began to stroke Draco’s arm softly. Before Draco knew it, his eyes had drifted close, and he realized that Potter had soothed him, making the come down at least slightly more bearable than it usually was.

Just as he was on the verge of falling asleep again, Potter spoke, in a tone barely above a whisper. “Remember when you asked me why I do this?”

“Yes,” Draco replied, hushed.

Potter let go of him then, and Draco just barely managed to keep from raising his hands to reach for the man. He scooted up and sat on the edge of the bed again. “It was because there wasn’t anything else. Nothing this easy, anyway. You said I could have done anything, but that wasn’t true.”

“But you’d defeated You-Know-Who and then MacNair and Jugson and Amycus…” Draco trailed off, eyes narrowing as he considered. He knew Potter had defeated the Death Eaters that had taken over the organization, but then Potter had disappeared. It had been all over the papers for months, until it was suddenly no longer a story, and Draco had bigger problems to consider than the whereabouts of the missing former savior of the wizarding world.

“I couldn’t do it anymore,” Potter then said quietly, eyes focused on the middle distance, as if he couldn’t bear to look Draco in the eye. “They just kept coming, one by one, seizing power. MacNair, Jugson, the Carrows … I thought it would have ended when Voldemort died. I thought it would be over and I could finally just live my fucking life. But they kept coming.”

Draco opened his mouth to say something, but he couldn’t find a single word.

“After I killed Alecto, I really thought that was it,” Potter continued, shifting his gaze to his hands. “I thought finally it would be over. Who could possibly be left? I mean, I knew there were more, but I thought they had to see that I’d just keep knocking them down, one by one.”

When Potter didn’t go on, Draco whispered, “Rowle.”

Potter let out a helpless laugh and glanced at Draco. “Right.” He shrugged. “Rowle was next, and it just sort of … well, it hit me finally that it was just never going to fucking end. No matter what I did. No matter how many of them I killed, there was always going to be another one right behind ready to take over. And … fuck, Malfoy, was I supposed to just keep killing them for my entire life? Is that who I was? Is that what that stupid, fucking prophecy meant? ‘The Boy Who Lived’ to murder Death Eaters until he finally fucking died?”

Potter fell silent then and got up. He walked over to the small window-seat across from his bed, climbed in and hugged his knees.

Draco didn’t want to break the silence, but so many questions had arisen for which he desperately wanted answers. “What about your friends? Didn’t they help?”

“For a while. Hermione … Hermione was so angry when I laid down the sword,” Potter muttered so quietly that Draco had to strain to hear. “But she didn’t understand. Neither did Ron. They didn’t get it. They didn’t get that I just … I just didn’t have it in me anymore.”

“To be fair, it doesn’t really sound like you.” Then, horrified with himself for letting the insensitive comment slip out before he could stop it, Draco clapped his mouth shut and inwardly refused to say another word.

“Yeah,” Potter said. “It really doesn’t sound like me, does it? But who the hell am I, Draco? Who am I?”

Draco had no answer to that, and so he kept his mouth shut. He didn’t dare to say anything, even though he certainly understood the sentiment. He wasn’t the boy he’d been back then either. He wasn’t even an approximation of the boy he used to be. He was nothing anymore.

“You shouldn’t do that shit anymore, you know,” Potter then said quietly, from his perch. “It’s a waste of money, and it’ll rot your brain.”

Draco considered him briefly, then scoffed. It wasn’t any of Potter’s business what he did with his money, his brain or his body, and if he wanted to slowly poison it with the dust, then that was entirely his prerogative. The problem was just that Potter had never experienced how amazing life was while stoned. He couldn’t possibly understand how much brighter the colors were, or how much more vibrant and louder the music was. Everything in the world was so dreary and grey, painful and mean and gritty and loathsome, but not within the dust; then, everything was beautiful.

“Have you ever done it?” he then asked. “Because seriously, Potter, if you ever actually did it, you’d know how great it was.”

“No thank you,” Potter replied, turning his head. “It’s not really my scene. And honestly? I wouldn’t have taken it for your scene either.”

“Really, Potter, you should try it at least once. Then you’d know why I like it. Trust me. I have some more, actually,” he slipped out of bed and walked over to pick up Potter’s hoodie that he must have discarded before tumbling into bed the night before, “and I promise that if you just try it the once, you’ll really--”

“--I Vanished the rest.”

Draco froze. “What did you just say?”

“I said, I Vanished it. I got rid of it for you.” Potter laughed bitterly. “You’re welcome.”

“But I need it,” Draco said, trying to ignore the panic that began to rise within him. “You had no right to … I need it, Potter. I need the dust.”

Potter climbed out of the window seat and faced him once again. “I promise you that you don’t.”

“Yes, I do,” Draco continued, the panic and nerves starting a fire beneath his skin. “I can’t get by without it. It’s … it’s just … it makes everything okay, and you seriously had absolutely no fucking right to--”

“--well, it’s already done,” Potter interrupted, “so you’re just going to have to deal with it.”

“No! No, you can’t have done--”

“--I did.” Potter opened his arms in a useless gesture that incensed Draco.

“Don’t you understand? I need it! I _need_ it!” Draco shrieked, lunging for Potter. He was taller than Potter by at least a head, and it should have been easy to overpower him, but Potter leaned in and wrapped his arms around Draco, tightening his embrace as Draco struggled to free himself. “Please, Potter, please,” he begged, hating his own weakness, “please, I need it. I can’t … I can’t do this without it, please!”

“I told you, it’s gone,” Potter murmured. “I Vanished it, and now it’s gone.”

Draco shivered in Potter’s grip, as an anguished cry tore itself from his throat. “I need it!”

“You don’t need it. You can do perfectly fine without--”

“--I fucking need it! I can’t! I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,” Draco repeated, trying desperately to wrench himself from Potter’s arms. “I need the dust, Potter, please, I need the fucking d--”

“ _No you don’t! _Potter thundered, and Draco finally fell silent from the shock. Potter abruptly let go, and Draco sank to the ground. Then, after a moment, Potter reached out a hand to help Draco up. “I’m sorry. I guess it’s really not any of my business what you do.”__

__

__Draco narrowed his eyes, angry at the abrupt change in Potter’s demeanor. “Don’t fucking do that. Don’t act like you care and then suddenly turn around and say it’s none of your business.”_ _

__

__Potter eyed him. “It isn’t any of my business what you do, Draco. I’m not your mother,” he said evenly. Then, after a long moment, he let go of Draco’s hand and walked away, taking a seat again in the window._ _

__

__Draco decided that it was very much time to leave. He needed to get his hands on some money and then some dust, and he very much needed to forget that Harry Potter had ever existed. His life had been so much better before stupid Potter had turned back up and given him a glimpse of what might possibly have been. Hell, he didn’t even know if Potter liked him or was just clinging to something from a better time in his life. Whatever the reason for Potter’s interest, Draco no longer had time for it. He had a life to get back, however shitty that life was. At least it was his._ _

__

__“I’m going now,” he said, acid in his voice._ _

__

__“I’m not stopping you,” Potter replied, with a shrug of his shoulders._ _

__

__Draco’s brow furrowed, and he frowned. And when he realized that all he actually wanted was for Potter to stop him, he shook his head and left. Potter was not his savior. Potter was no one’s savior -- not anymore._ _

__

____

\-- --- --- --

__

__Draco knocked on Potter’s door, laughing brightly, before turning around and sliding down the door to sit on the ground. “Potter!” he called. “Potter, come to the door. Potter, come to the _door_!” He practically sang the last and burst into laughter again. The door opened abruptly, and Draco fell into the flat, unprepared as he was. He sprawled on the ground half in the doorway and laughed hysterically. “Fuck! Potter, be careful!”_ _

__

__“Oh … oh, Malfoy.” Potter stood above him, and his expression was grim; but Draco didn’t care at all because soon everything was going to be just fine. Potter was there, after all, and he was the one person that Draco really wanted to see at the moment. Because Potter was everything he’d ever wanted._ _

__

__“Help me up, I want to show you something really amazing,” Draco said, reaching up his hands._ _

__

__Potter took a moment, but he did reach down and helped Draco lever himself up. “Malfoy, are you all right? I was … fuck, I was really worried about you.”_ _

__

__“Don’t worry about me. I’m totally and completely fine. I just really wanted to show you something. Come on,” Draco insisted, once he was on his feet. He brushed past Potter then and made his way, uninvited, into the bedroom. “Fuck me, I really love this room. It reminds me of so many nice things. It’s nice having your own room, isn’t it?” He whirled around to find Potter hadn’t moved from the doorway. “Potter, come on!”_ _

__

__When Potter finally decided to join him, Draco took a seat on the bed, bouncing a couple times for good measure, before pulling his legs up and sitting tailor-fashion. He shed Potter’s hoodie and tossed it away; it was really hot in the room, and his heart was pounding. He grinned up at Potter._ _

__

__“What did you want to show me?” Potter asked, sounding weary._ _

__

__Draco didn’t like that a bit. “Are you cross? Don’t be cross, Potter. There’s no reason to be cross, not tonight. Everything’s fine tonight,” he insisted._ _

__

__“Draco, what did you want to show me?”_ _

__

__Draco had entirely forgotten, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered now that he was here with his friend. “I wanted to give you something,” he then said, as it was the first thing that popped into his mind. He jumped up off the bed again and began to glance around for his hoodie. Hadn’t he just taken it off? Where could it have gotten to so quickly?_ _

__

__“Malfoy, you’re bleeding!” Potter suddenly exclaimed._ _

__

__“What?” Draco turned back at being addressed and reached a hand up, laughing brightly. He felt his cheek. “No I’m not, Potty. You’re losing it!”_ _

__

__“No, Malfoy, you’re bleeding. Your fucking arse is bleeding!”_ _

__

__“Oh, I see,” Draco replied. He felt his arse and, sure enough, found a small wet patch. “Oops. Did I get it on your bed? It’s such a nice bed. I’m sorry, Harry. I didn’t mean to get it on your bed.”_ _

__

__Potter was suddenly standing very close. “Did Greyback do this to you?” he asked, in a low, menacing tone._ _

__

__It sounded right, and Draco remembered Fenrir screaming at him about something, but it really didn’t matter anymore. The pixie knew how to make everything fine. “Mmm,” Draco then said, and leaned into Potter a bit. “But I’m here. You can fix it, right?” He cried out then, as Potter snarled out a _Tergeo_ and _Episkey_ in rapid succession. “I knew you could,” Draco added, with a grin. He didn’t even feel sore anymore._ _

__

__“Draco, I … fuck, I’m so sorry,” Potter said, and his eyes shimmered in a way that Draco really did not like. He didn’t even hurt anymore, so Potter had absolutely no reason to be apologizing. In fact, Draco was quite certain that Potter hadn’t even done anything._ _

__

__Draco slid his arms around Potter’s waist, and when Potter flinched slightly, Draco just held him closer, resting his head atop Potter’s and not letting him pull away. “You don’t have to say you’re sorry anymore. Because everything’s going to be fine,” he said, exhaling softly._ _

__

__“Draco, I want to … I want to say something,” Potter said, pulling back only a bit. He looked up at Draco, and God, his eyes were so green. Draco had never really noticed before how green they were. Granted, when he was flying, everything was prettier, but Potter’s eyes were so beautiful on their own. They were sparkling._ _

__

__“What do you want to say?”_ _

__

__“You can stay if you want,” Potter said._ _

__

__It hit Draco like a tonne of bricks to the chest, and if he hadn’t been flying, he might have cried. If someone like Potter -- someone who might have sunken quite low, but was at least once an icon of _good_ \-- if someone like him could look past everything that had happened, all the pain and the fear and the suffering, and offer something even remotely resembling safety, what did that say about Draco himself? Perhaps he wasn’t entirely worthless. Perhaps there was the chance that he could be better._ _

__

__He found his voice after a few moments, grinning widely, as he said, “I don’t want to put you out or anything.”_ _

__

__Potter smiled sadly, and Draco was certain his heart skipped several beats. “Just fucking stay with me, Draco. I am asking you to stay with me.”_ _

__

__“Yes, I could,” Draco said, flopping down on the bed and pillowing his head on his arms. “I can stay with you. Thank you, Harry.”_ _

__

__Potter sat down on the edge of the bed next to him and slid his hand into Draco’s stringy blond hair. “You’re welcome,” he said, voice hitching slightly as he spoke._ _

__

__“You’re really too good. You shouldn’t be so good, but you are. Even when you’re bad, you’re good,” Draco rambled, laughing. He closed his eyes, as Potter began to stroke his hair. “That feels really nice.”_ _

__

__“I’m not so good, actually,” Potter said, but his hands never stunted in their rhythm. “But you’re welcome.”_ _

__

__“How come you’re being so nice to me?”_ _

__

__“You asked me that once before, remember?” Potter replied. He shifted a little until Draco rolled over onto his back and glanced up at him, pupils dilated and eyes bright with fever. “Because you’re letting me be nice to you.”_ _

__

__“I really like it when you’re nice to me, Potter. I like it much better than when you used to be mean to me. Do you remember that? When you were mean to me?”_ _

__

__A small, half-smile settled on Potter’s lips, but his eyes glazed over, as if he was remembering something long forgotten. “You were pretty mean to me too,” he replied, after a moment._ _

__

__“I’m really sorry about that. I don’t like being mean to you. Not when you’re so good to me,” Draco said. He levered himself up onto his elbows and leaned his face up. “I really want to kiss you.”_ _

__

__“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. You’re flying, Draco,” said Potter quietly._ _

__

__But Draco knew he wanted it. He could see it in Potter’s beautiful green eyes. He really, really wanted it, just as much as Draco did. He leaned on one elbow and tugged Potter by the shirt closer to him. “I thought you wanted, _Harry_. I thought you really wanted. Remember?” Draco whispered against Potter’s lips. “Don’t you ever just _want_?”_ _

__

__“We really shouldn’t,” Potter whispered back, breath hitching in his throat. “Not when you’re like this.”_ _

__

__But Draco had had enough of the tease. His entire body was tingling with anticipation, and he wanted Potter more than he’d ever wanted anything. Every brush of Potter’s fingers against his skin sent a thrill through him. “Enough talking,” Draco said, and crushed his lips against Potter’s._ _

__

__Potter moaned and eagerly deepened the kiss. He pressed Draco down into the mattress and crawled on top of him. “Fuck, Draco,” he said, raggedly. “This is wrong -- this is so fucking wrong.” He ground his cock against Draco’s, and Draco cried out in pleasure._ _

__

__“Potter, you should fuck me,” said Draco, eyes rolling back in his head as Potter ground against him again. He was so hard, and Potter so hard and perfect against him. “Fuck me, Potter. Fuck me, please.”_ _

__

__Potter stilled and pulled back, as if stung. “Oh, God, no. I can’t … I can’t. Not, not like this.”_ _

__

__“Please!” Draco whined, jerking his hips up and bucking against Potter. “Come on, you want to. I can _feel_ it.” He rolled his hips slowly, and he could feel Potter’s body respond in kind._ _

__

__“No, Draco, I can’t,” Potter replied, closing his eyes. He took a moment, but then rolled off and laid at Draco’s side, tossing an arm over his eyes and hiding away._ _

__

__Draco whined again, a low, pining noise in the back of his throat and rolled onto his side. “Potter, why are you being mean to me?” He trailed a finger down Potter’s arm. “I thought you wanted to be good to me now.”_ _

__

__“Not tonight, okay? Not tonight,” Potter replied, voice sounding strangled. He fell silent then, and Draco tried not to let the bad thoughts overtake him. It had been such a nice flight so far, and he didn’t want it to turn bad._ _

__

__His body was still tingling, though, and he was terribly and undeniably hard. “Potter, I want you,” he tried again, much less forcefully though. He didn’t want Potter to be mad at him, after all. Potter said nothing, and Draco sighed. “Please? It doesn’t hurt anymore, and I really want you.”_ _

__

__Potter swung his legs to the side and faced away. “Not tonight, Draco. Another time, okay?” he said, shakily._ _

__

__With an annoyed sigh, Draco flopped down on the bed again. “Fine. But just remember you promised, okay? You promised.”_ _

__

__“I’ll remember,” he replied. He got up then and walked over to where Draco had dropped his hoodie. He rummaged in the pockets until he found a small pouch. “I’ll remember,” he repeated, quieter, as if to himself._ _

__

__Draco watched Potter Vanish the rest of the dust, but he was too far down the hole to protest. And when Potter climbed back into bed with him and extinguished the candles with an impressive wave of his hand, Draco curled into him easily. Potter was a warm, safe weight wrapped around him, and everything was going to be fine. At least for a while, everything was going to be just fine._ _

__

__“Good night, Harry,” he said, burying his face into Potter’s neck. “I’m not tired, but good night.” Potter slid his arms around Draco, and Draco murmured his appreciation. Draco then pressed a kiss to Potter’s adam’s apple. “You smell really nice.”_ _

__

__Potter said nothing, but held Draco tighter._ _

__

__“It’s going to be fine, Harry. Right?” Draco wriggled in Potter’s grip, nuzzling at his neck. “Tell me it’s going to be fine, please.”_ _

__

__“I think so,” he said, with a sigh. He then kissed the top of Draco’s head and closed his eyes. He didn’t let go until morning._ _

**Author's Note:**

> Please return to [LIVEJOURNAL ](http://hd-hurtfest.livejournal.com/)to leave a comment there. Feel free to leave a comment here, too. :)


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